


Incident on a Two-Lane Highway

by DPPatricks



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Slash, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 04:45:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPPatricks/pseuds/DPPatricks
Summary: After delivering a suspect to the Las Vegas PD, Starsky decides to take Hutch on ‘the scenic route’ back to Bay City. The drive, and those they encounter, are not what they anticipated. Pre-slash





	Incident on a Two-Lane Highway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzan_Lovett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzan_Lovett/gifts).



> A/N: Having received some editorial feedback, this story has been revised and re-written as of 6/16/18. I thank everyone who read the previous version and hope it’s better now for new and re-readers.

“Starsky...”

“Hmmm?”

“I swear, only you could find a route from Vegas to Bay City that took us through more open desert than I thought existed anywhere.”

“It’s called the scenic route, Hutch.”

“I don’t know why we had to drive anyway. Planes fly back and forth all the time.”

“And flying with a suspect is risky. You know that. We’ve done it when we didn’t have a choice but, this time, why should we, when it’s such an easy drive?”

Hutch was at a loss to know why he was feeling sullen and argumentative. It had been a successful trip; they’d delivered their prisoner to the LVPD after having to listen to only six hours of his continuous complaints, threats, and attempted bribes. All in all, after the paperwork was finished, not a bad two days. Starsky had even hit a small slot machine jackpot on their way out of the motel; which was another reason, Hutch realized, for his partner’s high spirits. And now they were heading home. The long way.

Starsky gazed around at the sear countryside. “Granted, it’s not the green of the mountains you love so much but, in its own way… isn’t it beautiful?”

“Maybe,” Hutch admitted, laying the ‘sour’ on thick. “If you’re a horned toad, rattlesnake, or Gila Monster.”

“Scenic route, buddy.”

“Middle of nowhere.” Hutch wasn’t sure if the Torino’s air conditioning was beginning to fail or if the shimmering lunarscape was just making him _feel_ hot. “The next time you decide to take a short cut --”

“It’s not supposed to be a short cut, Blintz, since I already know it’ll be a few miles farther and take a little longer.” Starsky reached over and patted Hutch’s leg. “Dobey’s not expecting us back ’til tomorrow.” He cast a work-with-me-here-partner look at Hutch. “This way, there’s things to see other than four lanes of way-too-many cars and trucks. Plus all those billboards.”

Hutch made a show of studying the flat, dry, scrub-studded view on all sides of them before he added determination to his voice. “The very next time, Starsky… I’m walking back.”

“Suit yourself.” Starsky added a layer of cheerfulness to his tone. “You’re always talkin’ about the great outdoors.” He took both hands off the wheel and gestured around. “Well, here we are. Sure, these are different colors --”

“Mostly drab.”

“Different mountains way over there,” pointing. “And over there.”

“Mountains are supposed to be green, Starsk. Not… brown!”

Starsky was plainly not going to allow Hutch’s bad mood to affect his up-beat attitude. “No traffic.”

“No _traffic_? Starsky, we haven’t seen one car in the last hour!”

His partner’s response was bland, with a touch of smirky. “That’s what I said. No traffic.”

“No gas stations,” Hutch pointed out.

Starsky lifted a shoulder. “We don’t need gas. We filled up just before we turned onto this road.”

“No people.”

That brought a huge grin. “We got each other.”

Fighting to hang onto his grump in the face of Starsky’s ebullience, Hutch leaned back and shut his eyes. “Wake me when we get to civilization.”

Starsky laughed. “Listen to you! The country boy can’t wait to get back to the city.”

Hutch kept his eyes closed and sighed dramatically. “Yes. I am on record as saying I like the country. I never said anything about desolation.”

“Picky, picky.” 

Hutch didn’t actually go to sleep but the miles speeding under them lulled him into a sort of half-daze to where, when Starsky began to sing softly, it made complete sense. 

“‘On a dark desert highway… cool wind in my hair… warm smell of colitas… rising up through the air…’”

Hutch shook himself fully awake and glared at his partner. “It’s broad daylight, Starsk, nothing dark about this desert highway. And what are colitas anyway?”

“You’re the plant guy. You tell me.”

“Some sort of dry-climate flora, I suppose.” Hutch put his head back again but nearly jumped when Starsky tapped him lightly on the arm. 

Starsky pointed out the windshield. “Civilization!”

Hutch focused on the clutch of ram shackle buildings they were rapidly approaching. Surrealistically, they seemed to be hovering - the bizarre effect of a heat mirage. The structures had undoubtedly been placed here when the road was more heavily traveled; possibly as long ago as the 1920s. 

A weathered sign a few feet from the pavement advertised, ‘For Sale - Inquire Within.’

Hutch had a sudden pang of sympathy for whoever was attempting to unload this piece of no-longer-prime real estate. 

There were two gas pumps in front of what had most likely been a general store and diner. A single-bay mechanic’s garage, its roll-up door closed, occupied the west portion of the structure, and what was almost surely a house for the resident attendant was out back. It was flanked by a number of rusted skeletons of old cars and trucks.

Three unassuming cabins trailed forlornly from the highway on the west side of the gravel parking lot. A water tank was visible above the roof of the store, old but, from moisture lines at the seams, still in use. Every building looked as if a good wind would leave nothing but foundations in its wake.

Another sign, older and larger, perpendicular to the highway stated, in very faded letters, LAST GAS AND FOOD.

“Until when?” Hutch wondered out loud. “Ever? That’s not an encouraging thought.”

Starsky chuckled. “‘You can check out any time you like…’” 

Almost in spite of himself, Hutch joined in for the last line, “‘But you can never leave’.”

As they sped past what, at first glance, was an abandoned site, Hutch noticed a woman sitting on a bench outside the store. She had dirty blonde hair partly covered by a scarf, and was dressed in such dull colors - faded jeans, gray t-shirt and sleeveless denim vest - she seemed to disappear into the lifeless surroundings.

A fancy custom van that was probably someone’s small-home-on-wheels was parked next to the garage. Even though Hutch wasn’t as much of a car enthusiast as his partner, he could tell the van hadn’t been cared for. It was filthy, dented, the paint was faded and the decorative decals were peeling. Its condition added to his disquiet; he knew a vehicle like that deserved better treatment.

Starsky patted the steering wheel in continuing good humor. “That was the outskirts of civilization, Hutch. We’ll be back at the freeway any minute.”

Hutch decided to keep his grumpiness intact because Starsky seemed to be enjoying it. “Sure. Any minute during the next five hours.”

“Go to sleep, grouch.”

In his side view mirror, Hutch noticed a man dash out of the cabin nearest the road, barefoot and wearing only sweat pants, gesturing wildly toward the Torino. He ran in the direction of the girl, unmistakably upset enough to disregard the rough surface under his feet, his flushed face giving Hutch the impression that he was screaming at her. He was glad the car was already past the point where he could have heard the words; body language and hands were enough. The woman, obviously unimpressed, sat back down and Hutch let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding since the man had appeared. He was glad they hadn’t needed to stop.

With Starsky humming ‘Hotel California’ again, Hutch managed to drift into a pleasant doze. 

“Hutch.” 

The tone in his partner’s voice brought Hutch to instant alertness. 

Starsky was staring at his dashboard gauges. “You didn’t remind me.” When Hutch simply looked the question, his partner continued. “Remember I said I wanted to get a new fan belt before we left Vegas?” He looked over with a grimace. “Hitting that slot machine drove it right out of my mind.”

Hutch smiled at the memory. “Because you wanted to go to Vicky’s and give her your winnings.”

Starsky nodded. “Yeah. I never thought about it after that.”

Hutch glanced at the gauges himself and saw one of the needles creeping upward. “Broken?”

“Looks like it. Temp’s climbing fast.” He slowed, pulled onto the right shoulder and executed a ‘U’ turn. “Good thing we’re only a few miles past civilization.”

Hutch didn’t bother to respond but something about the way the man he’d seen in his mirror had acted made him uneasy about having to return to that place.

When they were still more than a hundred yards short of the cluster of dilapidation, the woman got up from the bench and two men came out of the store. One was the gesticulating guy Hutch had already seen - now shod in disreputable sneakers - the second was new. All three appeared wary. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Starsk.”

“I hear ya. But we need a fan belt. What choice do we have?”

With the car stopped at the pumps, Hutch got out and looked over the roof; the older of the men - not the screamer - was walking toward them. The other two remained by the bench.

“Car trouble?” the man asked. He was about six feet tall, very lean and hard looking. He had brown hair, cut short, gray eyes and sunken cheeks. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and his skin was pale, as if he spent very little time in the sun. His clothes hung on him: dirty jeans and a coarse-weave shirt over a holey t-shirt. His work boots were scuffed and coated with dried mud. Hanging below his rolled-up left sleeve was an unusual many-strand wire bracelet; something the guy probably made himself. 

Starsky pulled the hood release and got out. Not turning his back on the three, but walking casually, he moved to the front of the Torino. Unhooking the latch, he lifted the hood. “Hell! That’s what I was afraid of. Fan belt’s busted.” 

The two men exchanged a quick look; the woman’s expression was blank. The man closer to them turned back to face them again, his fists clenched at his sides. “That’s just great.” 

Starsky glanced up from the beginning-to-steam radiator. “Don’t you sell ‘em?”

The guy was quite clearly pissed but attempting to hide it. “They used to, I guess.” He looked over his shoulder toward the closed service bay. “But the hoses, tires and belts in there are so old they’re either dried out and fall to pieces in your hands, or so stiff and hard they break if you bend ‘em.”

Hutch crossed his arms on the top of the car. “You the owner?”

The man stepped back as if offended. “No way!” He waved toward the fancy van. “We limped in here day before yesterday with a hole in the radiator. Haven’t been able to move. We were hopin’ to catch a ride with the first vehicle that stopped.”

“You mean to tell me that ours is the first… anything, that’s pulled in here in two days?” Starsky sounded incredulous, with an undercurrent of suspicion.

The man nodded. “‘Fraid so. The few that passed drove right on by. Just like you did, the first time.” He reached his hand toward Starsky. “Name’s Vince.” He motioned the other two forward. “This is my brother, Arnie, and our friend, Jan.”

Starsky shook the hand. “Dave. That’s Hutch. Who runs this place?”

Vince lifted both hands. “No idea. It was deserted when we got here.”

“Unlocked?” Hutch tried to mask his skepticism but knew Starsky had heard it.

Vince waved both arms around. “Everything wide open! We’ve been sleepin’ in those shacks and eatin’ their food. Had some stuff that was pretty fresh so they can’t have been gone too long.” He shrugged. “We’ll pay for everything, o’ course, once somebody comes back.”

“Did you call for a tow truck?” Starsky asked. “Might take a while for one to get all the way out here but…”

Again, Vince shook his head. “Phone’s out of order.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s an old one on the wall but… no dial tone. Can’t call nobody!” He shrugged again - it seemed to be something he was good at. “Maybe the owner went to report it.”

Arnie had sidled up next to the Torino and was peering inside. “Hey, Vince! Look at this radio. And that red light!” He straightened up, color rushing to his scruffy face. He was about the same height as his brother but skinnier and more nervous; possibly a year or two younger. He shared his sibling’s hair and eye color, as well as the sallow skin. His clothes were of no better quality and didn’t fit him, either. His fingers twitched. “You guys cops?”

Hutch strolled around the front of the Torino to stand next to Starsky. “That’s right.” He knew his and his partner’s shirts covered their holsters but he was instinctively glad they were both wearing their weapons.

Vince put an arm around Arnie’s shoulders. “Don’t take my brother too seriously, fellas.” His tone was conciliatory. “Ever since he was six, when our dad tried to give him away as a door prize at the annual Policeman’s Ball, Arnie hasn’t been too fond of cops.” He tried a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Our father, either, for that matter.”

Jan, her voice tentative, broke the uneasy silence. “Would the fan belt from the van work?”

Starsky glanced at Hutch, probably a little chagrinned that he hadn’t thought of it. “Not much chance, but we can give it a try.”

*******

Inside the service bay, Starsky, his hands and arms streaked with grease, straightened up from the Torino’s engine compartment, laying the wrong-size rubber circle on the air cleaner. Hutch could see the failure in his best friend’s eyes and gifted him with a fairly clean rag. Starsky smiled his thanks and began to wipe off the evidence of his futile efforts. 

Arnie, plainly having deduced that the van’s fan belt wasn’t going to fit, punched his brother on the shoulder. “What’re we gonna do now?”

Vince turned Arnie around, put a hand flat against his back and hustled him outside. “We’re all gonna go in the store, open a few cans, and heat up something for lunch. We ate almost everything outta the fridge but there’s plenty of Spam on the shelves…. I told you not to worry. Somebody’ll show up. Sooner or later.”

“That’s what you said yesterday!” Arnie yanked the door open. “And you know I hate Spam!” He stormed inside. 

Hutch and Starsky hung back a little as the brothers entered the decrepit building. Jan, lagging behind the pair, could have been a somnambulist for all the interest she showed. The question she’d asked about the van’s fan belt may have been her limit of participation. 

Hutch, as non-threateningly as possible, blocked her path, keeping his voice down. “Is he always like that?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I guess so.”

Starsky, clearly having had a sudden thought, walked back into the bay and opened the driver’s door of the Torino. 

Immediately on the same page, Hutch was right on his heels. “Probably way out of range… of anybody.”

Starsky sent him a silent, _thanks, Pollyanna_. He slipped into the seat, turned the radio on, picked up the mic and keyed it. “This is Zebra Three, Bay City PD, to any unit on this frequency. Over.” When nothing, not even static, came back he turned the channel knob one click and tried again. “This is Zebra Three calling anyone hearing my voice. Come in, please.”

While Starsky continued to try every available frequency, Hutch openly studied Jan, who had followed them into the garage. She appeared to be in her early thirties, slender and pretty enough, if she’d pay some attention to her hair, face and clothes. As it was, her aloof, detached, even bored attitude gave Hutch pause. “Have you been friends with Vince and Arnie long?”

She glanced at him but couldn’t hold eye contact. “Too long.”

“Why do you stay with them?”

On a deep sigh, her expression became one of despondency. “I’m just like everybody else. No place to go.”

Starsky hung up the mic, turned the radio off, and got out of the car. Undoubtedly having heard her words, he put a hand lightly on her forearm. “There’s always somewhere, Jan. Always!”

She shook the hand off, not necessarily angrily, but more, it felt like to Hutch, as if she’d heard the same thing too many times. Cocking her head over her shoulder, she pointed to grease Starsky hadn’t managed to remove with the rag. “There’s a tub around the side where you can wash up. I’ll show you.”

Hutch caught Starsky’s eye. “Shouldn’t you put the belt back on the van first? No sense having to wash up twice.”

Starsky grabbed the band out of the Torino’s guts and headed toward the hood-up vehicle outside. “Might as well.”

******* 

Hutch did his best to choke down the coffee that was even worse than the sludge usually available at Metro. He, Starsky and Jan were sitting in the diner/store’s single booth at the many-paned big front window. Vince and Arnie were in the kitchen, their heads and shoulders visible through the opening behind the lunch counter. They were in what was clearly a heated inaudible discussion while Vince stirred a large pot of… something.

Hutch studied the room, noting the shelves of dry and canned goods, plus boxes of chewing gum and candy - all of it probably unpalatable - next to a desk that held an antique cash register. A few racks of very out-of-date clothing, canisters of propane, sacks of charcoal, some tools and hardware, first aid kits, plus various and sundry products that might be needed by passing motorists, comprised the rest of the store-half’s contents.

There was a large old wood-cased telephone mounted on the wall next to the front door but, as he and Starsky had verified when they’d come in, it had no dial tone. Maybe the owner _had_ gone to report it. Or pay the bill.

In front of the kitchen, a Formica-topped counter and a few duct-taped stools gave a ghostly impression of a deli. Empty pie/donut cases were clustered at one end. At some point in its history, the place may have catered to hungry travelers but it was obvious that those days were gone. 

Starsky’s soft tone of voice made Hutch stop looking around and pay more attention to his partner and Jan. 

“I don’t mean to pry or anything but…” Starsky nodded toward the kitchen. “How’d you get hooked up with those two?”

She stared down into her coffee cup for a few seconds before looking up at him with an almost blank stare. “You don’t know anything about me. What makes you think I don’t belong with them?”

Hutch caught her eye. “Do you?”

She blinked and looked away. “Not really.”

Starsky softened his voice even more. “Then why?”

When she looked back at him, she appeared truly perplexed. “What do you care?”

Hutch smiled at her, wanting to lighten things up a little. “You’ll have to forgive him, Jan, but he does that a lot… care.” He picked up his cup of dreadful coffee but didn’t drink. 

Starsky’s eyes were still on Jan but he cocked his head toward Hutch. “My partner does, too. He just tries not to let it show as much.” 

Hutch gave him a nudge and sent a silent, _Thanks, buddy_.

With a sigh, she folded her hands around her untouched cup. “I used to be pretty good at it once, myself.”

With a glance toward Vince and Arnie first, Starsky reached across the table and touched her hand. “What happened?”

“Five years in prison.” Her voice was quiet, with no inflection. 

Hutch hadn’t expected that and he was pretty sure Starsky hadn’t either. “For what?” he asked.

When she looked at him he could tell she hadn’t anticipated his sympathetic tone. “I killed a man.”

Hutch absorbed the statement and felt Starsky leaning against him. This was turning into much more than either of them had anticipated. Hutch lifted his cup toward the kitchen. “And them?”

She took another deep breath. “I met them last month in San Jose. They were running from something… a bank job, I think, but I’m not sure. I know they’ve both been in prison, too. I never asked what they’d done though…. Anyway, they’d just stolen the van from the airport’s long-term parking lot, seemed to want some company, and I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“If it’s not what you want,” Starsky prodded, gently, “why don’t you leave them?”

Hutch and Jan shared an amused glance before Hutch raised an eyebrow toward his partner. “Have you forgotten where we are, Starsk? And why we’re not miles away ourselves?”

Starsky ducked his head before grinning. “I mean, after we all get out of here.”

Her expression turned sad, and serious. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” When she realized neither Hutch nor Starsky was going to ask the obvious question, she glanced quickly toward were the brothers were still occupied, before looking back at them. “This place wasn’t deserted. There was a nice old man and his wife…. Arnie killed them.”

Hutch knew instantly that that was the key he and Starsky had been missing. And now everything made an ugly kind of sense.

There were tears in Jan’s eyes and voice when she continued, even more softly than before. “The old couple said our luck was just awful because their grandson had been here the day before we showed up. He comes out once a week with their mail and groceries. He could have taken Vince to a repair shop while Arnie and I stayed here.”

Hutch glanced at the wall-mounted telephone. “The phone in here doesn’t work, but is there one in their house?”

She shook her head. “It’s on the same line. They told us a really bad wind storm blew through last month. Electricity’s been restored, but not the phone, yet.”

“That’s not possible!” Starsky was visibly upset but managed to keep his voice down. “How could two old people exist way out here by themselves?”

She shrugged but Hutch could tell relating all this was breaking her shell of isolation. “My great grandparents were supposedly like that. Mom used to say they were pioneer stock.”

Hutch silently snapped his fingers. “What about a car?”

“Vince asked them,” Jan replied. “They said they were both too old to drive. They depended on the grandson for everything. There’s a pickup truck that’s older than I am out back, but it’s up on blocks. It doesn’t have an engine so I didn’t bother suggesting its fan belt. The wife said they’ve been trying for a long time to sell the property but… well…..”

“So, what happened?”

“Arnie was furious with Vince for driving us into this wasteland; they were arguing long before the radiator started over-heating. When we saw this place, Vince thought we’d be okay and he kept Arnie in check during the old man’s explanation of their out-of-touch circumstances.” 

She swallowed a mouthful of coffee before remembering how terrible it was. “Arnie did a lot of stalking around and the old man sent his wife inside to heat something for lunch while he kept assuring Vince that cars did stop once in a while and someone would be along, sooner or later. At that point, I guess Arnie wasn’t about to be placated. He shoved the guy into the bay and demanded a replacement radiator from one of the wrecks outside. But when the old guy said there wasn’t a salvageable part left on any of them, Arnie shot him before Vince or I could do anything. When his wife came out and saw what had happened, she started screaming. He shot her, too.”

Hutch had seen so much during his and Starsky’s careers, he knew her story shouldn’t be affecting him as deeply as it was. But it was. “Where are they?” 

“Behind their house,” she said. “In a shallow grave. Vince had to soak the ground before they could dig.”

“Are they armed right now?” Starsky asked.

She nodded. “Probably. Small of their backs. They don’t have holsters or anything, they just stick them in their waistbands.” A flash of fear, or possibly regret, crossed her face. “Plus, Vince has the old man’s guns.”

Starsky’s whisper was almost a growl. “Plural?”

“Yes. There was what Vince called a deer rifle in the house and…” Her eyes darted toward the old cash register. “And a Colt Peacemaker in the desk.”

 _This just keeps getting better and better_ was Hutch’s immediate thought. “Where are those two items now?”

Her hands were white-knuckled around her cup. “Probably in Vince’s cabin. It’s the third one back.”

Starsky almost chuckled. “He couldn’t very well manage his innocent role totin’ a rifle around, now could he?” He leaned against Hutch and sent him a quick, tense look. “Did I hear you think ‘better an’ better’ partner?”

Hutch nearly smiled. “You did.” He turned his concentration back on Jan. He couldn’t get his head around this woman. She sounded reasonably intelligent but her actions weren’t demonstrating any smarts at all. He knew his tone was harsher than it might have been but he couldn’t help it. “Jan, associating with known felons is a parole violation.” He waited until she looked at him. “You are on parole, right?”

She dropped her eyes. “Yeah.”

The look on Starsky’s face did nothing to cheer Hutch up; he was pretty sure his partner was beginning to have feelings for Jan and was struggling with the fact that he was a cop and she’d gotten herself into a whole lot of trouble. Hutch could tell Starsky wanted to get her out of it.

“Your parole officer give you permission to leave town?” Starsky’s tone was casual and it was a reasonable question. After her head-shake, he continued in the same coaxing manner. “You’re hanging out with ex-cons, Jan, and they’ve got guns.” He waited until she met his eyes. “Do you _want_ to go back to prison?”

She pulled her arms in tight to her sides and didn’t answer. 

Hutch resumed the questioning, willing to take on the ‘bad cop’ persona. “Then, why? What made you take up with them?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just the easiest thing to do.”

Starsky patently wanted to shake her out of her lassitude but he kept his voice down and managed to sound only disappointed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.” She couldn’t meet either of their gazes now. “Maybe, if you knew the whole story, you’d understand. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” Starsky touched her hand again.

She lifted her cup, breaking the contact, and looked straight at Hutch. “Don’t worry. Whatever you decide to do, I won’t interfere. But, be careful, okay? Arnie’s really crazy.”

Hutch tried to sort through their very limited options. Starsky would know how up-tight he was but he didn’t want Jan to become any more nervous. He waited for her to meet his eyes again. “They already know we’re cops. But if Starsky and I can convince them that you haven’t told us about their crimes here, maybe we can wait it out until someone stops. At that point, Starsky and I’ll play it by ear.” He looked at his partner. “Any better ideas?”

“They’re back there right now, Hutch, arguing about when they’re gonna kill us, too.” He stared at Jan. “Won’t they be worried that you’re telling us everything?”

She lifted a shoulder and looked at Hutch. “While you were both at the phone, trying to get a dial tone, Vince told me what would happen if I said a word. I’m supposed to keep you here in the booth, talking about nothing in particular.”

“First chance they get, Hutch, they’re gonna try to waste us.”

“Which won’t do a damn thing to get them out of here,” Hutch noted.

“Vince may be sane enough to realize that,” Jan said, “but I’m not sure Arnie is.”

“Then we’ll hope Vince is still in control.” Hutch nodded toward the kitchen. “Here they come.” He got up, giving Starsky room to slide out of the booth.

“Jan,” Starsky whispered. “Move over behind the counter and start setting out plates and stuff. If anything happens, get down and _stay_ down!”

She did as directed while Hutch and his partner faced the approaching pair. Vince was carrying a large, steaming pot; Arnie had the stirring ladle. 

“Smells good, fellas!” Hutch casually moved away from the booth in one direction, Starsky, the other. “Jan’s getting plates. Did you bring a hot pad? Wouldn’t want to damage the owner’s vintage table top.”

Arnie stared at Starsky and something he saw must have triggered the wiry man’s instincts because, without warning, he raised the ladle and launched himself, swinging at Starsky’s head. “I hate cops more than I hate Spam!” His momentum carried them both into the booth. Hutch saw his partner grapple with the frenzied brother, unable to free his left hand and reach his holstered weapon.

Unfortunately, Hutch couldn’t do anything to help Starsky because Vince heaved the cooking pot, hot contents and all, at Hutch. Managing to avoid the majority of whatever was in the pot, Hutch dove and rolled, drawing his Python and coming to his knees. 

Unencumbered now, Vince threw himself at Hutch. He was strong and clearly fighting for his out-of-prison life but Hutch was trained and focused. And angry! He fought off Vince’s fists, feet, and teeth while half his mind listened to the struggle going on behind them. Gaining control of the Magnum, Hutch clubbed the side of Vince’s head with it at the same moment the sound of breaking glass came from the booth.

Flipping Vince onto his face, Hutch holstered his weapon, easily found the gun Jan had said Vince was carrying, and slid it into his waistband. “Starsk? You okay?” Pulling cuffs from his back pocket, he dragged the convict’s hands behind his back and snapped them on tightly. Only then did he look toward where his partner had been fighting with Arnie. “Starsky?” 

The booth was empty and the frame of the window showed only a few shards remaining of the mullions and glass panes that had been there moments before.

Jan was pulling open the front door. “Arnie wrestled Dave through the window!”

Hutch dragged Vince to his feet and shoved him out after Jan.

On the pavement, beneath what had been the store’s large front window, Starsky, showing cuts and abrasions on his face and arms, was lying amid the shattered glass and splintered wood. He was leaning on his right elbow, the fingers of his left hand pressed to the neck of the prone body next to him.

Jan knelt at Arnie’s right side and, in what appeared to be a professional manner, checked for the carotid pulse. Apparently not finding it, she felt the back of the neck. Arnie’s head was at an unnatural angle.

Hutch unlocked one of Vince’s cuffs and relocked it so that Vince’s wrists were secured through the wrought iron arm of the bench. Pushing the man down onto the seat, he knelt beside Starsky, looking at Jan. “Is Arnie dead?”

She sat back and, if anything, her expression showed relief. “Yes. I think his neck’s broken.”

Hutch put a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “You okay, Starsk?” But rather than the quip Hutch expected, Starsky just looked at him, his eyes a bit glazed. 

Jan quickly scanned Starsky for injuries, lurched to her feet, and yanked the scarf from her head. “No! He’s not!” Stepping over Arnie’s legs, then Starsky’s, she pushed Hutch aside and crouched behind Starsky.

When Starsky tried to keep her in sight, he unbalanced and fell onto his back, exposing the tear in his jeans and the wound on the inside of his left thigh, just above the knee.

Jan spun the scarf into a tight band and quickly tied it around Starsky’s leg, about four inches above the gash. She nudged Hutch. “Get me a heavy stick, or the handle of something!” Before he could move, she added, “And a box. Or a crate! Something to prop his leg on.”

Hutch didn’t say a word; his years on the force had shown him far too many potentially serious injuries and he knew he couldn’t waste a moment with questions or indecision. He ran to the gas pump island and grabbed an old windshield scraper, plus the empty container it was sitting in. Knocking the blade end off with one quick slam to the side of the pump housing, he hurried back to Jan. He dropped the handle in her lap and went to Starsky’s feet. Kneeling, he put the bucket down on its side, and gently lifted his partner’s left leg onto it. 

Jan nodded her approval while inserting the stick under the scarf tied around Starsky’s thigh. She began to turn it, tightening the band of cloth. “There are towels behind the counter!”

Hutch was on his feet and moving as her next words followed him inside, “Ice! There’s a machine next to the towels. And bring anything else you think we can use.” 

He found the stack of towels and scooped ice into a pitcher while visually searching the shelves. He snatched an entire carton of chewing gum, plus a few first aid kits, and dashed outside with everything.

Jan had the tourniquet twisted tight and the blood flow had slowed to an ooze. She grabbed Hutch’s closest hand. “Hold this! And don’t let it slip!”

Hutch reached forward and replaced her grip on the handle.

She picked up one of the towels and rolled it into the same kind of band she’d made of her scarf, before tying it around Starsky’s leg, a few inches above the tourniquet. Then she moved Hutch’s hand away from the stick and slipped one end under the towel. Grabbing another cloth, she folded it and pressed it against the wound. Hutch was already folding the rest and she took them as he handed them to her. Blood soaked through the first, but not the second. Yet.

“I think I saw plastic garbage bags in the kitchen.” Jan didn’t look up from her task; her voice was calm but urgent. “Get one, please, and make an ice pack. It will help slow the bleeding.”

In the kitchen, under the sink, Hutch found not only the roll of trash bags but an Igloo. He detoured behind the counter again on his way out and filled the cooler with more ice. Outside, he ripped a bag off the roll, dumped the pitcher of ice in, and tied the mouth down tight against the cubes. 

Almost before he was finished, Jan grabbed it and pressed it next to the pad of towels, on the inside of Starsky’s leg. She pulled Starsky’s right leg closer, effectively holding the make-shift ice bag in place. 

Starsky made a show of shivering. “‘t’s cold.”

Hutch forced a grin past his gritted teeth. “It’s supposed to be.” He took his long-sleeved shirt off and spread it over Starsky’s upper body, tucking it in. Gripping the shoulder, he tried to convey comfort and strength, while keeping his worry under strict control. 

Starsky met his gaze, his expression dazed, with a shade of embarrassed. “Got away with it twice…. Guess third time wasn’t the charm, huh?”

With a smile that he knew looked more like a grimace, Hutch dug a pack of gum out of the carton he’d brought and opened it. Unwrapping a stick, he held it in front of his partner’s mouth. “Hope you’ve got plenty of saliva, buddy. This stuff’s bound to be pretty dry.”

Starsky may have been woozy but he must have known what Hutch had in mind because he opened his mouth and took the initial piece. “Gimme more ’n one.”

Hutch spent the next few moments stuffing pieces of gum into Starsky’s and his own mouth.

“Hmmmmmm,” Starsky muttered. “Not too bad.”

Jan was checking Starsky’s other gashes when Hutch tapped her on the shoulder. As soon as her face was turned toward him, he pushed a piece of gum into her startled mouth. “We’re going to temporarily fix the van’s radiator.”

Without wasting breath to ask questions, she began chewing. “What do they put in this stuff that keeps it soft. It should be hard as a rock?”

Hutch gave her another piece. “We probably don’t want to know.”

“Will it work?” she asked. “We’ve got to get him to a hospital… soon! This tourniquet can’t be left in place too long.”

Hutch swallowed the boulder that had just lodged in his throat. “I know. The year of pre-med I took was mostly reading but I’m aware of the possible problems.” He gave Starsky’s shoulder another squeeze. “You’re going to be fine, partner. I promise.”

“Don’t Hutch. I know it’s bad and I ain’t holdin’ you to that kind of --”

“Shut up, Starsky! Just shut the hell up, and let me handle this.”

“Okay.”

“Water! I’m going to fill up every container I can find.” Hutch gazed toward the tank that was hidden behind the store. “Wish we could put that sucker on wheels and tow it behind us.”

Jan added another towel to the ones she was pressing against the wound and adjusted the bag of ice. “Blankets, Hutch, and pillows. There are some in the van but we’ll need more. Plus all the sheets and towels you can find.”

“Right.” Hutch brushed the hair off Starsky’s forehead. “Chew!”

*******

Hutch came out of the last cabin in the row, his arms full of bedding, a rifle and six-gun on top. The van’s rear doors were already open, with the linens he’d collected from other places piled at the foot of the double bed that spanned the back of the custom vehicle. He dumped the blankets and sheets on top and slid the weapons under the platform before he hurried back to Starsky. 

Jan was tending to his partner’s more minor cuts with antiseptic and Band-Aids from the first aid kits. The towels and ice were now held in place by gauze and tape from those same red and white boxes.

Knowing he was being entirely too cavalier but not giving a shit, Hutch rolled Arnie’s body and slipped a gun out of the back of the jeans. He laid it gently on Starsky’s chest. “Hang onto this for a minute, will ya?”

Starsky managed a small grin and covered the weapon with his right hand. 

Hutch pulled Arnie’s body up by the wrists and flung it over his shoulder. “I’ll put him in the bay. The sheriff can deal with it.” He carried the dead weight into the garage, lowered it to the floor next to the Torino, and returned to Starsky and Jan. Lifting his partner’s hand, he squeezed the fingers before taking the gun, removing Vince’s weapon from his own waistband at the same time. “Be right back.” 

At the van’s rear doors, he retrieved the rifle and Colt and moved to the driver’s door where he stashed all four captured weapons behind the chair.

Within seconds, he was back at Starsky’s right side. “Let’s get you into your chariot, partner.”

Starsky managed not to make a sound as Hutch picked him up. With visions of Giovanni’s swarming his brain, Hutch carried Starsky to the open rear doors of the van. Jan had already climbed up onto the bed and took the shoulders. Carefully, they slid him onto the mattress, his head to the left, his injured leg propped on the stack of blankets and sheets. Jan handed Hutch his shirt before spreading a quilt, possibly the work of whoever had owned the vehicle, over Starsky’s body, leaving the left leg uncovered. “How bad’s the pain, Dave?” 

After thinking about it, Starsky shook his head. “It isn’t, really. I would have thought it’d be worse.”

“It probably will be,” she responded. “But the only thing we have is aspirin from the first air kits and that’s a blood thinner.”

Starsky looked at each of them and managed a small smile. “That wouldn’t be a good thing, right?”

Hutch slipped his shirt on and patted his partner’s free hand. “No, buddy, it would not.” He went to the side door and opened it. Into the space behind the passenger’s chair, he heaved a five-gallon gas can, a Clorox bottle, two milk cartons, and various-size jars of water. He closed the door and brought the last container, a glass pitcher, plus a plastic coffee cup, to Jan, who tucked them in beside the blankets. Then a vital necessity occurred to him. “How much gas is in this thing?” 

Jan shook her head. “I have no idea.”

Hutch sprinted to the driver’s side, got in and turned on the ignition. When the gas gauge needle stopped moving, he struck the wheel with the palm of his hand. “Damn it! Less than half a tank.” He glanced out the back toward the highway. “Maybe the pumps still work.”

Jan shook her head. “The old man said his underground tank was leaking and the company drained it. He didn’t have the money to get it repaired.”

Starsky’s voice was weak but it penetrated Hutch’s anger and frustration. “There’s plenty in the Torino, Hutch.” He dug the keys out of the pocket of his jeans.

Hutch ran around and took them. Jogging to the Torino, he fired it up, backed it out of the bay, and jockeyed it into position so that the two vehicles’ gas caps were in close proximity. Returning to the service bay, he found a length of hose that didn’t disintegrate in his hands, rushed outside and siphoned every drop out of the red car into the van. When he was finished, he drove Starsky’s beloved striped tomato back inside, locked it, and rolled the garage door down. Giving the keys back to Starsky, he patted the curly head, twining his fingers into the softness. “She’ll be fine in there ‘til we get back.”

“She better be.” Starsky had tried to sound threatening and Hutch gave him points for the effort.

With an only slightly forced smile, Hutch held his hand out, palm upward, under Starsky’s mouth. “Spit it out, buddy.” Starsky did as ordered, after which Jan added her mouthful to the wad. Hutch gave her two unopened packages and, as she began to unwrap the first stick, he left them to the chore of creating more sealant, in case it was needed.

Reaching the front of the vehicle, Hutch pulled his own sticky mess out of his mouth and leaned over the grill. He pressed the mound into the hole, spreading the edges around it. With all his considerable force of character, he _willed_ the patch to hold. Using the two full buckets he’d already set next to the bumper, he filled the radiator and capped it. After securing the hood, he re-filled both containers at the faucet on the side of the garage. These he stored under the bed in the back of the van, braced by the massive jack so that they wouldn’t tip over. “You two about ready?” he asked his passengers.

The pain beginning to show in Starsky’s eyes nearly tore Hutch apart but his partner managed a wink. “Any time.” 

Hutch hurried to where Vince was still cuffed to the bench. Unlocking one, he dragged the guy toward the passenger’s side of the van. 

“Where we goin’?” Vince sounded surly and belligerent; a neat trick, Hutch thought, given his circumstances.

“First, to get help for my partner. Then, to drop you with the nearest sheriff. You’re going back to prison.”

“What about Arnie?” Vince’s voice was flat and uncaring.

“He’s dead.” Hutch discovered he couldn’t work up a grain of sympathy for either of these clowns. “He broke his neck when he took Starsky through that window.”

Vince shrugged. “Arnie never was very bright.”

The callous tone and attitude caused Hutch to miss a step. “Weren’t you two related?”

“I guess so. At least that’s what our father always told us.” Vince shrugged again, more exaggerated this time. “But who cares?”

Hutch opened the passenger door, slipped the open cuff and chain through the armrest and relocked the cuff around Vince’s wrist. “Get in!”

Vince made a show of having difficulty climbing into the plush captain’s chair while Hutch closed the door enough to allow him to settle into the seat. “Do not even think about giving me any trouble.” Hutch slammed the door, not caring how uncomfortable the guy might be.

Back at the rear of the van, with a nod to Jan and a quick hang-in-there-buddy look at Starsky, Hutch closed the doors. Moving to the driver’s side, he got in, fired up the engine, and pulled onto the highway. There were still no cars or trucks visible in either direction. “You were right, Starsk,” he called over his shoulder, in as cheerful a tone as he could manage. “No traffic.”

With the road stretching for miles of uninterrupted miles in front of them, Hutch could watch the big rearview mirror almost constantly, as Jan kept pressure on the ice pack and folded towels that were, hopefully, holding Starsky’s precious blood inside his body. Once, she poured water into the plastic cup and helped him drink. His eyes, except when they were closed, never left hers.

*******

The van was stopped on the shoulder of the highway, the engine cover raised. Hutch added gum to the seal, poured in a can of Stop Leak, since it couldn’t hurt, then topped the radiator off with water. Starting to throw the empty into the desert, he had second thoughts, carried it to the side door and stowed it among the still-full containers. “Don’t want to trash the pristine countryside. Right, Starsk?”

Before he shut the door, he heard Starsky’s voice. “My partner’s a nature lover, Jan.”

Climbing behind the wheel again, Hutch started the engine and pulled onto the paved surface. Looking over his shoulder, since there were no other vehicles in sight and the van was nearly driving itself, he made sure his tone was light. “How ya doin’, buddy?”

“Okay.” The answer had come a little too quickly for Hutch’s peace of mind, and the voice had been almost inaudible over the engine and tire noise. “A little light-headed is all. Sorta cold.”

Hutch caught Jan’s eyes and the look in them betrayed how worried she was. Quickly, she spread another blanket over her patient. “How far have we come?” 

Hutch turned back to the view out the windshield. “Almost fifty miles. But the water’s hot now…. We may have to stop again in a while.”

“Hutch?…” Starsky’s eyes met his in the mirror and the rueful expression on his partner’s face nearly broke Hutch’s heart. “Next time I wanna take the scenic route…”

Hutch swallowed hard. “Yeah. That goes on the list with my scrambled eggs, pal. Next time.”

*******

When Hutch climbed back into the driver’s seat after the second stop, he noticed that Vince was huddled against the passenger door. “Straighten up, Vince! What are you all scrunched over for?”

Vince shot him an offended look. “Ever try to get comfortable with both hands tied to a door handle, cop?”

Hutch considered the question while he pulled onto the highway. “Nope. Don’t think I ever have. And, considering the fact that you and your brother tried to kill Starsky and me, you can get curvature of the spine for all I care.”

When he looked over his shoulder this time, Starsky’s eyes were closed. The expression on Jan’s face when she met his gaze in the mirror said it all: Hurry! Even though Hutch’s foot was all the way to the floor and the van was exceeding the speed limit, he urged it to go faster, while his tendency toward guilt trips played havoc with his raw nerves.

Breaking into his concentration, soft voices from the back of the van made him pay as much attention to Jan and his partner as to the horizon-piercing blacktop.

“Jan…” Starsky’s voice was weak but persuasive. “Tell us about it.”

In the mirror, Hutch could see she already knew what the words meant but asked anyway. “About what?”

“The man you killed.”

“No.”

Hutch, only half his attention on his driving, threw his two cents in. “Is this a private conversation?”

Watching them in the mirror, Hutch saw Starsky nudge her gently. “He cares, too. Remember?”

When Hutch began to think she was never going to respond, she sat up straight and took a deep breath. “It’s not that I think you wouldn’t understand, it’s just pointless.”

“Let us be the judge of that, okay?” Starsky prompted.

“It’s done. It’s over. What good would it do to talk about it?”

“I think you need to,” Starsky said.

When she finally began, her voice was without inflection. “My husband and son were murdered in our home… I was raped and strangled, but didn’t die. The man who did it got away with it.”

“You knew who it was?” Hutch asked.

She nodded. “He worked for my husband.” She busied herself applying ointment and a Band-Aid to a minor cut on Starsky’s arm. “But his family and friends gave him an alibi and I had no proof, other than my knowledge.”

When she didn’t go on right away, Starsky prodded. “What happened?”

“I convinced the D.A. to file charges, and I did my best to make the jury believe me… but the guy was acquitted. On the way out of the courthouse, after the verdict was announced, he laughed at me and admitted the whole thing to my attorney. Said he was sorry I hadn’t died, too.”

Hutch saw Starsky close his eyes, not saying anything; what could he say?

“I killed him the next day.” Her features were rigid and her eyes didn’t seem to be focused within the van. “I was convicted of murder, with diminished capacity. The judge sentenced me to eight-to-ten years.”

“But you only had to serve five.” Starsky’s tone said he was glad.

“Good behavior.” She tucked the blankets more firmly around Starsky’s shoulders. “It wasn’t too bad. I got to work in the prison hospital the last four years…. Had the chance to learn a lot.”

Starsky was looking into her eyes again. “Thank you.”

“For what? I was only doing what I was taught in --”

“Not for that,” Starsky interrupted softly. “For changing your mind about not wanting to tell us.”

She almost smiled. “I didn’t change my mind.” She glanced toward Hutch again before patting Starsky’s hand. “You guys are insidious, you know.”

Starsky tried to smile but Hutch could tell he didn’t have the energy. She saw it, too, and entwined her fingers with his. “You’re welcome.”

*******

Hutch stood in front of the van which was stopped on the right shoulder of the highway. The hood was up and the radiator was steaming; Hutch knew better than to try removing the cap. So angry with himself he could hardly see straight, he walked to the back and opened the doors. Starsky was awake and both he and Jan were asking silent questions.

“I blew it, Starsk. I pushed it too far and now we’ve got to wait until the radiator cools enough for me to get the cap off.” He picked up Starsky’s right hand and held it tight. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

Not waiting for whatever his partner might say to attempt to alleviate his gut-wrenching remorse, Hutch turned and walked away, stopping at the edge of the drainage ditch. “What the fuck does this road need with a drainage ditch?” he screamed at the Joshua trees. “I’ll bet it never rains in this God-forsaken desert!”

Memories assailed him of people he’d cared about, who had been hurt or died: Gillian, Jack Mitchel, Abby, Vanessa, and Starsky, himself, before. And now Starsky, again. This time though, his partner, the best friend he had in the world, might die. Guilt, self-blame, pain and fear weighed him down to the point where he wasn’t sure he could take another breath.

Jan materialized at his side. He’d been so wrapped up in his self flagellation he hadn’t heard her approach.

“It’s a good thing we’ll be stopped for a while.” Her quiet words barely disrupted the silence surrounding them. “The tourniquet has to be loosened and I can’t do it alone.”

Hutch took a deep breath and turned, knowing he had to put his despair aside and help Starsky. “Tell me what to do.”

“How much do you know about tourniquets?”

“We read about them in pre-med so I know they can be dangerous. Once, a few years ago, Starsky got shot in the right leg. It was bleeding pretty badly so I cinched my belt around his thigh and kept it tight for a while.”

“Was the artery hit?”

“No.”

“How long did you leave the belt tight?”

“Not very long, I guess. Things got pretty busy after that. We took down the bad guys; got him to a hospital fairly quickly.”

“Well, considering the way his leg was bleeding, if I hadn’t applied the tourniquet and ice, I believe he’d have been dead within fifteen minutes. Possibly less.”

Hutch had known it was bad but he hadn’t realized it had been that serious.

“Now, as you undoubtedly read in your books,” Jan continued, “while the constriction is stopping the worst of the bleeding, it’s also cutting off the blood supply to the lower leg. My scarf’s been wound tight for almost two hours… and his leg is almost undoubtedly beginning to die.” She put a supportive hand on Hutch’s arm. “That’s why tourniquets can be so harmful when help isn’t readily available. If we don’t restore some circulation now, the least he’ll be facing is… amputation.”

Hutch grabbed her hand and practically dragged her back to the van. “Show me what to do.”

Instead of going to the open rear doors, Jan led him in through the side. Hutch spared a glance toward the huddled figure of Vince, crouched in what looked like an even more uncomfortable position against the passenger door, but banished any thought about why, when Jan crawled onto the bed at Starsky’s left shoulder and motioned for Hutch to keel next to her.

Starsky opened his eyes; he looked back and forth at them but didn’t say a word. Hutch squeezed his partner’s left hand tightly with his own left as Jan placed a folded towel in his right.

“Press this as hard as you can against the wound,” she ordered, “and hold it there. Don’t let up for a second.”

Hutch knew what was coming and hated himself for the pain they were going to cause. “This won’t be easy, Starsk, but you have to hang on.”

Starsky squeezed his hand before letting go and getting a tight grip on the edge of the mattress. “Do it.” He shut his eyes.

Hutch raised up on his knees for better leverage, his head against the roof, and pressed the towel on top of those already covering the wound. Starsky groaned. 

Jan slipped the handle out from under it’s restraint and began to loosen the tourniquet. "Dave…Tell me when you start to feel anything.”

Starsky opened his eyes and focused on her. “Like what? I haven’t felt anything below the knee for what seems like hours!” 

“You’ll know,” she replied. “Just tell me.” She continued to untwist the scarf slowly.

Hutch felt wetness on his hands and saw fresh blood seeping through the towel. “Jan… Stop!”

“Don’t release that pressure!” She handed him another towel. “We can’t stop. We have to allow some circulation _now_!”

Hutch added the second towel and pressed even harder. 

Starsky flinched and tried to move away from both their sets of hands. 

Jan didn’t do any more untwisting. “Try to be still, Dave. But tell me what you feel.”

“It hurts!” Starsky’s voice was strained and Hutch winced; Starsky almost never complained about real pain.

“Is it a needles and pins sensation?” she asked. “Like after your foot’s been asleep for a long time?”

“Yeah. But needles and pins is one thing. This is more like daggers and swords.” Starsky’s last three words came out as a near-scream.

Of all things, Jan smiled. “That’s good! It means the blood is getting back into the tissues of your lower leg.” On Starsky’s sharply indrawn breath, she pulled his left hand away from its death grip on the bedding and held it tightly. “Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to and hang on. The pain is good.”

“Spoken with true clinical objectivity.” Starsky had barely gotten the words out but Hutch matched Jan’s smile; his partner hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

*******

Hutch was pouring the second container of water into the now-sufficiently-cooled radiator when Jan joined him. He spared her a glance. “How is he? Really.”

“He’s very weak. But at least the tourniquet can stay in place for another hour or two, if necessary. I don’t know why he’s not unconscious though. I would have thought his internal organs would be shutting down by now.”

“You’ve never met anyone like my partner, Jan.”

“No, I know I haven’t.” She watched as he finished with the cap. “How much farther, Hutch?”

Hutch closed the hood, made sure it was latched, and picked up the empties. She moved back to the side of the van with him. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t have believed we could come this far without seeing a soul. There has to be something, or someone, soon.”

He stowed the empties inside before handing her up the step. She went back to Starsky, and Hutch closed the door. When he got in on the driver’s side, Vince was even more bent over than usual. Hutch started to say something but decided the bastard wasn’t worth his concern. Praying silently to any gods who might be listening, he pulled onto the road.

*******

Hutch’s instincts had always been good and, even though most of his mind was on Starsky, he became aware of Vince’s sudden flare of hatred an instant before the guy flung himself out of the passenger seat and across the console. The still-cuffed right hand grappled with Hutch for the steering wheel as Vince reached for the driver’s door handle with his left. Hutch knew immediately that Vince was going to try to push him out, at speed.

Hutch slammed his right fist, backward, into Vince’s face but, when the guy jerked away, his hand on the steering wheel yanked control from Hutch and the van careened to the right. 

Hutch spared one quick glance in the mirror and saw that Jan was lying across Starsky’s body, keeping him in place. 

Returning full attention to Vince, Hutch backhanded him again and tried to straighten the van’s wheels. He jammed his foot toward the brake pedal but Vince had managed to get his left leg over the console and mashed that boot onto the accelerator. With one hand still on the wheel, Vince twisted it in the opposite direction and the vehicle darted toward the left side of the road.

Vince was wild, thrashing about and using the empty handcuff as a weapon. Hutch’s left eyebrow was cut and blood was blurring his vision. His lip was split and he began to be afraid they were going to end up in the ditch if he didn’t do something. However, before he could decide what that something might be, a glass pitcher was smashed over Vince’s head. 

Hutch spared a brief look and saw Jan drag Vince over the console onto the floor behind the passenger’s chair. Before he could process another thought though, the left front tire jumped the berm at the edge of the ditch. Hutch slammed on the brakes but the vehicle flew across the deep depression and came to a jolting stop. 

As soon as Hutch could make his legs work, he leaped over the console into the rear of the van. Vince’s head was bleeding but Hutch barely noticed. He manhandled the body into facing forward and shoved the arms around either side of the pedestal of the passenger’s seat. Then he crawled into the footwell and cuffed Vince’s wrists back together. Noticing the wire bracelet on the floor, he picked it up and stuffed it in his shirt pocket, fighting the urge to kill this bastard with his bare hands.

“Hutch!” 

Jan’s shout broke through Hutch’s murderous rage and he looked over the back of the seat to where she was straightening Starsky’s limbs on the bed. “I know you’d rather kill him but Dave hasn’t got time.”

Hutch nearly fell out of the passenger side and rushed to the back, where he wrenched the doors open. The towels over Starsky’s leg were soaked with fresh blood and he appeared to be unconscious. Hutch looked his question at Jan, who was scooping ice from the cooler into another trash bag.

“The handle came loose during the melee.” There was naked pleading in her eyes. “He needs that hospital.” 

Hutch dashed around to the front of the van but the sight was not what he hoped to see. Spanning the drainage ditch at an angle, the left front of the vehicle was quite a bit lower than the rest and the reason was obvious: the wheel was folded under the chassis, the axel broken.

“Oh, God…” Hutch breathed. “Damn!”

Lost in his mental agony, fear and self-castigation, Hutch didn’t know Jan was beside him until she spoke.

“He’s going to die.”

Those words got through to Hutch as no others probably could have. He spun to her and grabbed her shoulders. “No, he’s not!”

She didn’t try to step away and her tone was resignedly factual. “He has to have help. And how is he going to get it now?”

Hutch dropped his hands. “I’ll find a way. I’ll get him out of here if I have to _carry_ him. He is _not_ going to die!”

Before she was able to respond, Hutch’s consciousness registered the sound that had been trying to dig its way through his desperation for several seconds: engine noise! Without thinking, Hutch ran into the middle of the road and waved his arms. 

A pair of side-by-side motorcycles was approaching from the west, already slowing. They stopped next to Hutch and the rider closest to him pulled off his helmet, staring at the van. “Looks like you’ve had some trouble.”

The second rider pulled off her helmet and sunglasses and concerned brown eyes met Hutch’s. “How can we help?”

Hutch yanked out his I.D. folder. “Hutchinson. Bay City PD. My partner’s been hurt and I need to get him to a hospital.” He couldn’t keep the loss of hope out of his eyes when he focused on the Harleys. “It’s his leg, so there’s no way he can ride one of these but could you take me to --”

Jan interrupted him with a hand on his arm. “Let me go with them.”

Hutch stared at her. “You can’t leave! He needs you!”

She led him a few feet away. “I’m not a doctor. I can’t do anything more for him and, if he wakes up, you’re the one he’s going to need. Not me.” She glanced toward where the riders had gotten off their bikes. “Stay here, Hutch. We’ll find the nearest phone, call the sheriff and get a helicopter.… We’ll be back in no time.”

For an uncharacteristic moment, Hutch was unable to decide. 

“I don’t know why I’m asking you to trust me, Hutch, but I am.” Her eyes were begging him now. “I don’t want him to die, either.”

Hutch snapped out of his daze and hurried back to the couple. “Could you please take my friend, Jan, to the closest phone?”

The woman hung her helmet on the handlebar. “I’ll stay. I’m not a nurse or anything but if I can --”

“No, Bets, we don’t split up, ever!” The man held his hand out to Hutch. “Jim Landers. I happen to be LAPD, Motorcycle Division. That’s my wife, Betsy. Sorry to sound overbearing but riding out here’s hazardous enough with a buddy; we always ride together.”

Hutch shook the hand and nodded to Betsy. “I understand.” 

“But we’ll be more than happy to take Jan back…” Jim hooked his thumb over his shoulder, “about fifty miles to the last phone I remember passing.”

Jim went to his saddlebag and took out another helmet which he handed to Jan. “Buddy system and always wear a helmet. That’s our motto.”

Jan smiled as she took it, put it on and fastened the chin strap. “It’s a good one.” She turned to Hutch. “You won’t have to loosen it again. Try to keep him warm and quiet. Give him some water if he asks. We’ll be back soon…. I promise.”

Hutch glanced at his watch. “It’ll be dark in an hour or so. I’ll turn on the headlights.”

Jan took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll find you.”

She turned but he caught her arm. Extracting the wire bracelet first, Hutch shed his flannel shirt. “Take this. It’ll be colder on the bike.” He held it out.

She slipped her arms into the warm plaid and hugged it around herself, as if already chilled. “Thanks.”

Betsy and Jim donned their helmets again and turned their motorcycles around. Jim gestured toward the back seat of his wife’s ride. “Climb on behind Bets. The two of you add up to one of me and we’ll make better time.” He sent an intense look at his wife. “Balls to the wall, sweetheart.”

She smiled, almost mischievously. “You know me, Jimmy, the faster the better.”

While Betsy and Jan got settled, Jim turned to Hutch. “If your partner’s name is Starsky, I’ve heard about you. You’re legends and I’ll do everything I can to get help out here asap.”

Hutch could only stand there, speechless, while the pair fired up their cycles and took off in a cloud of tire smoke. Jan waved before leaning forward and clutching Betsy’s waist.

Hutch shoved the bracelet into the back pocket of his jeans and hurried to the van. He opened the passenger door and unlocked Vince's cuffs. Ducking to the side door, he wrenched it open and dragged Vince out by the legs, standing him on his feet. “You’ve got one chance to live through this day, Vince.” Towing the groggy man with him, Hutch went to the rear doors and began sliding the mattress under Starsky’s shoulders off the bed. He motioned for Vince to take the other end. “You’re going to help me carry my partner into the shade at the side of the van. You’re going to do it carefully, and you’re not even going to think about dropping him.”

Vince scowled but did as instructed. Hutch curled the edges of the mattress up around Starsky as he led Vince to the shoulder. Hutch gently laid his end of the bed on the ground; Vince only dropped his a few inches. Without giving Vince the chance to try anything, Hutch pushed him to the front of the van, and secured his arms around the bumper. "Sit down!" Muttering unintelligibly, Vince dropped to his butt. “Congratulations. You get to go back to prison and not end up as bleached bones in this desert.” 

Not giving Vince another thought, Hutch brought rocks for a fire ring, then gathered brush and sticks. When he returned with the second armful, Starsky’s eyes were open and Hutch crouched next to him. “You okay?”

Starsky worked his hand out from under the blankets and tried to lift it to Hutch’s face. “What happened? Why’s your pretty face all messed up? Where’s your shirt?” He glanced around. “Where’s Jan?”

Hutch caught the hand and held it, sitting Indian-style on the side of the bed. “One answer at a time, Mr. Curious.” Pulling the bracelet out, he held it up. “Remember seeing this around Vince’s wrist.” When Starsky nodded, Hutch went on. “This was why he was always scrunched over in his seat; he was picking the lock on one of the handcuffs.”

Starsky stared at the thing. “Clever s.o.b.” Cobalt blue eyes scanned Hutch’s cuts and bruises. “He do that to your face?”

“He took me by surprise,” Hutch admitted. “And, before Jan could knock him out with a pitcher, he caused a wreck.” 

“Okay… So where is she? And your shirt?”

“The front axel’s broken and this old thing,” Hutch patted the side of the van affectionately, “is out of commission for a while.”

“You still haven’t told me where Jan is.”

“Patience, Starsk, I’m getting to it. Two vehicles came along.” 

Starsky raised one eyebrow. “Traffic?”

Hutch laughed. “Well, sort of. It was --” 

“I assume they’re not still here, since I don’t hear or see anybody. Why didn’t we go with ‘em?” 

Hutch rubbed the back of the hand he was holding tightly. “Let me finish, okay? It was a pair of chopped Harleys. Reminded me of ‘Easy Rider,’ except this was a husband and wife.”

Starsky glanced at his propped-up leg. “Guess it was a silly question.”

“They’ll be back any minute, Starsk.”

“Didn’t I say those same two words a lifetime ago?”

“Seems to me you did. But, this time, I hope it’s true.”

Starsky sighed. “So, the van’s wrecked, Jan’s gone for help, and… your shirt?”

“Jan’s wearing it. Might help keep her warm on the bike.”

Starsky looked around again. “Where’s Vince? Did you kill him yet?”

“I’m been tempted.”

“Where is he?”

Hutch nodded toward the front of the vehicle. “Handcuffed through the bumper. I made him help me bring you outside first.”

“Why? I was sorta comfortable in there.”

“You wouldn’t be now. The bed slopes about thirty degrees.”

“Oh.” Starsky looked toward the bleak horizon. “Is that why I’m outside, enjoying this one-star version of the Hotel California?”

Hutch climbed to his feet. “Yep, that’s the reason. And not a glass of pink champagne or a Mercedes Benz in site. Sorry, buddy. But, listen, I need to get a fire going. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

“Do whatever you have to do, Hutch. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Hutch flinched, knowing Starsky had chosen the words deliberately in an attempt to remind them both of a dire situation that had turned out okay. Giving his partner’s shoulder a squeeze first, he ran to the pile of brush and sticks he’d gathered. Picking up two long, straight pieces, he went back and displayed them. “Look at these, Starsk. They’re the dried out bloom stalks of yucca plants. I’ve seen people using them as walking sticks. They’re strong and straight; they’ll be perfect for corner posts here. And when this is over, I’m going to bring them back to Bay City, sand and polish them. We’ll use them instead of ski poles when we go hiking in the Sierras this coming winter.”

While Hutch pushed them into the ground at the bottom corners of the mattress, bracing them with rocks, he heard Starsky muttering, “Hiking in the Sierras. Can’t wait.”

Hutch showed Starsky a rope he’d found in the utility compartment of the van and explained what he was doing as he tied one end around the high hinge of the open driver’s door, and the other around the upper hinge of the open rear door, pulling it tight. Then he took a blanket and draped it over the rope. He attached the outer corners to the upright yucca stems, forcing the hard points through the old material. “Now, as long as the wind doesn’t start blowing, you’ve got a roof over your head.”

“Which means I won’t be able to see the stars when they come out.” 

The exaggerated pout made Hutch realize Starsky was kidding him. “I’ll make it up to you, babe. Soon as you’re out of the hospital, we’ll take a trip up to Griffith Observatory.”

“Really? I’ve always wanted to go there!”

*******

The fire was blazing in its stone ring at the foot of the mattress and Hutch had hung more blankets, closing off the sides of the shelter and, hopefully, keeping some of the fire’s warmth inside. Starsky was either asleep or unconscious, Hutch didn’t know which. But, while he had the chance, he dashed out to get more wood. Lost in recriminations about all the things he’d done wrong that day, Starsky’s plaintive “Huuuuutchhhhhhhhhhhhh” brought him back to the here and now.

Dropping his armload, Hutch raced back to the shelter. He crawled inside and grabbed Starsky’s hand. “Right here, Starsk. I was getting more wood.”

Firelight betrayed the fear in Starsky’s eyes. “I woke up and you weren’t around. Guess I panicked. Sorry.”

“Shhh. Don’t apologize.” He patted Starsky’s hand. “I’ll just go get that wood now, okay?”

“Sure.”

By the time the fire was stoked and there was a goodly pile of kindling next to the ring, Hutch noticed it was beginning to get dark. “Be right back.”

At the driver’s side, Hutch climbed in and turned the headlights on, pressing the button on the floor to send out the high beams. They shot off into the desert but he was sure they could be seen from miles away; especially from the air. Fervently hoping to hear rotor blades in the very near future, he got out and went back to the shelter where he crawled onto the mattress, sitting next to Starsky’s shoulder.

“You know…” Starsky cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s a good thing this didn’t happen the other way around.”

Hutch helped Starsky to drink some water. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I never woulda been able to do all this…. I wasn’t a Boy Scout.” He looked at Hutch with a childlike expression.

Hutch’s heart melted. He knew Starsky was attempting to lighten the mood and loved him for it. “Sea Scout.”

“Whatever.”

Hutch decided to play the game and punched his partner lightly on the shoulder. “You dummy, anybody could do this. There’s nothing to it.”

Starsky shook his head. “Not me. The only campfires and lean-tos I ever saw were right there, waiting for Gene and Roy whenever they needed ‘em. Compliments of the Prop Department.”

Hutch doffed an imaginary ten-gallon hat. “Waaaallllllll, Roy,” he drawled, as he waved ‘the hat’ around. “Compliments of the Prop Department.”

Starsky gave back Hutch’s wan smile before falling quiet. When he spoke, it was in a voice shaky with some emotion Hutch couldn’t identify. “You should have seen the look in his eyes, Hutch. I met a few Loony Tunes in Cabrillo but Arnie was something else. Worse. Much worse.” He physically shuddered and Hutch took his hand again.

“He was strong, too! I couldn’t get to my gun; he seemed to have eight arms and sixteen hands! Before I realized what he’d thought of doing, he had his feet under him and had flung us through the window. I felt something tear through my jeans and leg as we went out but there was nothing I could do. He landed under me and I heard something crack.”

Hutch felt the hand he was holding tremble and realized his partner was shivering. “You cold, Starsk?”

“A little.”

Hutch threw more wood on the fire before he crawled behind Starsky and leaned against the van. He stretched his legs down on either side of his partner and carefully pulled Starsky up against his chest. With the curly head nestled on his shoulder, Hutch drew his legs in tight to Starsky’s, tucked the quilt around both of them and crossed his arms on top, over Starsky’s body. “Better?”

Slowly, the trembling eased and Starsky sighed. “Yeah.” Under the quilt, Starsky moved slightly until his arms were exactly under Hutch’s. “This is nice.”

Hutch tightened his hold and hoped Starsky would go to sleep. “Rest, buddy. Help’ll be here soon.”

Long minutes dragged by on weighted feet and Hutch thought Starsky had, indeed, fallen asleep. When his partner spoke at last, though, Hutch had to forget such wishful thinking.

“Hutch?”

Hutch knew, from the serious tone of voice, that something important was coming. “Hmmmm?”

“I have to ask you for a really big favor.”

Terrified that he knew what Starsky was going to say, Hutch swallowed his fear and kept his tone level. “I’m listening.”

“If I’m still alive when we get to the hospital, don’t let ‘em cut my leg off. Before they take me through those double doors, you have to make them understand that amputation isn’t an option. You have my power of attorney, you can do that.”

“Starsky, I couldn’t --” 

“Hear me out, please. I saw too many guys at the V.A., Hutch, after I got back stateside and the docs were patching up this same leg. They were in wheelchairs. On crutches with one pant leg pinned up. Or trying to get used to a peg leg.”

“They don’t use peg legs any more, Starsky.”

“You know what I mean. And every single one of those guys told me he wished he’d been given the choice.” He shrugged, shivering again and Hutch held him closer. “But they weren’t. Their legs were cut off and, when they got back home, they discovered their families couldn’t bear to look at them. Their girlfriends, fiancés, even wives, weren’t able to make love with an amputee.”

“There had to have been others, Starsk.”

“Probably. Ones whose families and wives welcomed them back, in whatever shape they were in. But the only ones I knew were at the V.A., because they had no one.” 

“That wouldn’t happen to you, Starsky! I’d always be there for you.”

“I know that, Hutch. I _know_ that! But you have to think about it from my point of view. If taking my leg is the only way to keep me alive… let me go. You have to let me go. I wouldn’t want to live like that, Hutch. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t do this to yourself. Please, don’t do this to me! You’re going to be fine. I know it! Rest now, okay? Just rest.”

“Cold. Why am I so cold?”

“That’s loss of blood.” Hutch grabbed another blanket, knowing it wasn’t going to do any good, and spread it over them. “As soon as we get to the hospital, they’ll start filling you back up.” 

“This is like something I saw in an old western series. I think it was called ‘The Tall Man.’ Ever watch it?”

“Not that I remember. My parents weren’t fans of television.”

“No, I guess not.” Starsky’s tone told Hutch he understood how controlled and repressed Hutch’s childhood had been and commiserated. As his shivers subsided a little, Starsky worked a hand out from under the blankets and covered one of Hutch’s. “Well, lemme tell ya ‘bout this scene, since I’m picturin’ it really clear in my head right now.”

Hutch leaned his chin against Starsky’s temple. “I’m all ears, pal.”

“Barry Sullivan played Pat Garret and Clu Gulager was Billy the Kid. They weren’t enemies, yet, in the show. Anyway, in this particular episode, Billy and another guy were having a shootout miles from town, in a bunch of big rocks. Billy fired and the bullet ricocheted off a boulder and into the guy’s leg. Turned out it hit the artery. They talked while The Kid tried to stop the bleeding. Even used a tourniquet, I think, but it wasn’t enough. The guy got cold and Bill gathered him up; held him, just like you’re holding me…. He bled to death in Billy’s arms.”

“You’re not bleeding to death, Starsky. Jan got it stopped and now we’re just waiting for the cavalry.”

“Yeah. Maybe they’ll get here in time for the hospital to cut off my leg.” Starsky tried to squeeze Hutch’s hand but the pressure was heart-breakingly light. “Don’t let ‘em, Hutch. Please promise me you won’t let ‘em. They’ll tell you they have to, so they can save my life. But I wouldn’t want to live like that, Hutch. I wouldn’t!”

Hutch couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t swallow. He held the most important person in his life in his arms and felt utterly helpless. “Shut up, Starsk. Please, just shut the hell up.”

“Don’t cry, Hutch,” Starsky whispered. “Do this last thing for me, though. Okay?”

Hutch swallowed his tears but didn’t know if he’d have the courage to do as Starsky had begged. The strength to let his best friend go might not be in him. As he was wrestling with the horrors of both scenarios, the sound of rotors thrummed in the distance and, finally, he gave in to the tears. 

 

EPILOG

Hutch pushed Starsky’s wheelchair out through the hospital doors toward the Torino he’d parked at the curb, its passenger door invitingly open. A candy-striper trailed, waiting to take possession of the hospital’s property as soon as it was vacated.

Knowing his partner didn’t want any help, Hutch watched as Starsky pushed himself to his feet and carefully maneuvered his left leg in first, then settled his butt on the seat. 

Spinning the chair into the hands of the waiting volunteer, Hutch gave her his most dazzling smile, closed the passenger door, ran around, and jumped in behind the wheel. After he’d maneuvered the unfamiliar car around the parking lot and out onto the street, Hutch pointed to the glove compartment. “Got you a present.”

Starsky cast him a quick, suspicious look, but punched the button on the lid anyway. Taking out the small, gaily wrapped package, he sent Hutch more silent suspicion and uncertainty. When Hutch didn’t say anything, Starsky tore the paper off to reveal an old copy of The Boy Scout Manual. Starsky’s patented lop-sided grin lit his face. “Be prepared.” 

Hutch shrugged. “You never know. You might have to take care of me next time.”

They drove in silence for a while and Hutch realized he didn’t have any idea what his partner was thinking. “You’re awful quiet, buddy.”

“Just wondering about some things.”

Ordinarily, Hutch would have made a sarcastic remark but something in his best friend’s demeanor held him back. “Want to tell me?”

“Jan…. Wondering how she’ll be doing, now that things are straightened out with the various D.A.s, and the sheriff out there.”

“Her parole officer’s taken care of the grouches on the Parole Board.” Hutch patted Starsky’s arm. “You didn’t see the way he looked at her but, if she can find it in her heart to let him be more than the person she has to report to, I’m pretty sure she’ll have him in her corner for the rest of her life.”

“That’s good.” Starsky nodded, sounding content.

“I know you were falling in love with her.”

Starsky turned to him, his smile now reminiscent. “No I wasn’t, Hutch. I cared about her, and hoped we could get her out of the mess she’d gotten herself into.” He looked down at the book in his hands. “But I realized something that day in the desert. And it was reinforced while I was lying in the hospital… something I should have known a long time ago.”

When the silence dragged on, Hutch prodded gently. “What’s that, Starsk?”

“My heart belongs to you.” He looked at Hutch again and his indigo eyes were as disingenuous as Hutch had ever seen them. “I’m pretty sure it always has.”

Hutch pulled the car to the curb and shut off the engine. Half-turning, he gazed at Starsky. He had no idea what to say because, if he said the wrong thing, what he’d been dreaming about might never happen. He waited. 

After a few seconds, Starsky looked away. “Let me ask you something.” 

“Okay.”

“What would you have done if I’d died before we got to the hospital?” Starsky took a deep breath and looked back, his eyes having taken on an even more intense shade of blue than usual. “Or if they’d said amputation was the only way to save my life and, instead, you’d had the courage to let me go?”

Again, Hutch felt as if he couldn’t breathe. But his partner had asked a question and deserved an answer. “I’d ha…” He swallowed, cleared his suddenly constricted throat, and tried again. “I’d have followed you.”

Sheer kindness and compassion flooded Starsky’s face. “That’s what I thought. ‘Cause that’s what I’d have done, if things were the other way around.” Tentatively, Starsky reached over and took Hutch’s hand. “I know now, Hutch, that I can’t live without you.”

Hutch entwined their fingers and gripped tightly. “I feel the same way.”

There was nothing lop-sided about Starsky’s grin this time, it nearly split his face. “I have no idea where we’ll go from here, babe, but, wherever it is, it’ll be together. I love you, Hutch. I’m _in_ love with you. I wanna _make_ love with you. If that never happens, though, that’s okay, too.”

Hutch didn’t even attempt to hide his overwhelming happiness. “My place? Or yours?”

Starsky took his hand back and picked up the manual. Holding it to his chest, he closed his eyes. “Surprise me.”

*******

A desert crossing  
meant to vary the route home  
brings abiding love

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> ‘Hotel California,’ written by Don Felder, Don Henley and Glenn Frey
> 
> A/N: I’m indebted to Clu Gulager, co-star of ‘The Tall Man,’ and Richard Jaeckel (1926-1997), guest star of that 1961 episode, for their moving performances, long before S&H.


End file.
